The Melancholy of the Sheriff of Piltover
by odanobuna
Summary: Caitlyn has spent half her life chasing C to no avail, but little did she know that C was always close by, stalking her, observing her every little action. Fed up of waiting, C finally reveals his identity to the Sheriff of Piltover. Told from C's POV. Story is an AU to my other story.


Call me Cyntail. Call me C. Call me any other name you want – it doesn't matter. I can't see you right now, but I know you're in your cruiser approaching the front entrance of the deserted warehouse, having followed the clues that I intentionally left in my wake. You know me as your archenemy – the one that got away. The person behind the one case that you, the genius Sheriff of Piltover, could never solve.

For years, you knew nothing about me. You didn't know my background; my age; my gender; or my appearance. Neither did you know my motives nor my next target. All you knew was my initial 'C', and the fact that I am the one person in Valoran whose wit equalled yours.

It goes without saying that you didn't know how much I knew about you, and it would send a shiver down your spine if you ever did. I have been watching you all this while, throughout your every waking hour. I watched you grow up from a precocious child prodigy who skipped grades, to become the famous police officer and eventual sheriff who stamped the criminals out of Piltover's streets.

I know what motivated you to dedicate your efforts into your sniping abilities. I saw the 10,000 misses at the shooting range that lie behind each and every one of your millimetre-perfect bullets. I noted how with every practice shot, your hand grew ever more steady and your aim ever more precise. Of course, I would hope for a better source of motivation than that, but as the saying goes, don't fix what's not broken.

I observed your interactions with that enforcer of yours. I am, after all, fairly well-acquainted with how you managed to swing her to your side with your incredible show of inner strength and willpower. You wanted to show her that it was never too late for her to pick herself up no matter how many wrong turns she had taken in life, and for that you two agreed that she would cross over to your side if you could still stand after taking ten of her strongest punches.

I watched as you trained your body through a rigorous endurance regime to withstand the challenge. I never realised how determined the studious bookworm could be until I saw you ignore the screaming of your abdominal muscles as you struggled to complete that one extra sit-up that turned into a hundred.

It was all proven to be worth it in the end when that fateful day arrived. You showed up in the abandoned warehouse, clad in your pristine officer uniform that you hoped would psychologically ingrain your authority in her mind. I still remember the pain you felt from the first punch that rammed into your exposed belly like a wrecking ball. Yet you managed to remain standing, to the surprise of both her and yourself. Sheer determination kept you standing for the next four, and it was on the sixth punch that you first collapsed to the ground after the pain accumulated from the first five prevented you from clenching your abdominal muscles anymore. But you still picked yourself up.

The seventh, eighth, and ninth were excruciating, considering how unprotected your body had now become. With each punch, her fist sank deeper and deeper, that you felt as though it would rip all the way through your belly and out through your back. In spite of the tears that started to leak out of your eyes, however, you still managed to stand up. I will never forget the speechless expression on her face as you stood up once again through all the pain.

The tenth and last one was most memorable, with her later professing that it was the hardest punch she had ever thrown at anyone. It was a good hit too, right to the centre of your belly button, causing you to crumple to the ground. For a while it seemed as though you were out for the count, but you miraculously started moving again and would have succeeded in standing back up if not for a certain someone's untimely intervention. Regardless, you managed to endure the ordeal, winning both her tears and her lifelong support.

I know how she feels about you, and I fully empathise with the confusion you feel underneath every smile you make at her and during the briefest of moments that your hands unintentionally touch as you go about your daily law enforcement duties. It certainly reminds you (and me) of those times when you were madly in love with a boy during your teenage years. If I could offer you just one small piece of advice: make a resolute decision and act on it without regrets.

But I'm getting ahead of myself here. That's a story for another time. As it is, I have spent too much time talking about her, though I guess it is to be expected given how important she is to you. I may not be able to see you right now, but I know you're already carefully making your way through the familiar corridors of this memorable warehouse, trying to find the room that my clues indicated would be where you could finally find me.

So you've upgraded your old flintlock rifle to a state-of-the-art sniper assault rifle. I hope the reason why you're in your uniform is simply because you rushed here from your office, and not because you intended to stamp your authority on me as you did to your enforcer before she joined you. Please, I know that you know that I listen to logic and reason; not rank and authority. As I predicted, you came alone, which is all the better since I am not too keen on letting others know my identity, not even your enforcer.

But enough about you. Let's talk about me. What do you know about me? You first found out about me after you solved your first few cases. They were simple ones carried out by amateurs and you sought to crack the toughest case before the department at that time. Then again, no case seems to stump you nowadays. One fact hasn't changed though, which is that my case has withstood the test of time. Back then, you could not solve the cases that I was a part of, and you still cannot solve them today. It's been so long that I grew tired of waiting and decided to confront you myself, which leads us to where we are now.

I have watched you from the very beginning, and I still watch you today. Every breath you take, every move you make. Whether or not I will continue to watch you from the shadows is completely your choice. You can choose to keep chasing after me, knowing that I am every bit your match. Or you can choose to fix the problem right there and then. Take me under custody and solve the cases for good.

I cannot see you right now, but I know you are approaching. I cannot hear your footsteps, but I know you are outside the door of this room, listening for the faintest of sounds. Here, I'll even start the countdown till the moment you kick the door open.

 _Three…_

 _Two…_

 _One…_

BANG! The door slams open right on time. You didn't even need to scan the dark room with a torchlight for your well-trained eyes to land on me. The red laser pointer of your sniper assault rifle is pointed directly at my forehead.

Your fingers reach out for the light switch, filling the room with brightness, but I know you have already seen me. Your mouth falls open as you remove your dark sunglasses, your warm amethyst irises widening with recognition at the figure in front of you.

You finally see my real identity, and you stare at me bottom-up in disbelief. You see a beautiful girl holding a rifle of her own, wearing tall boots that reach up to my knees and custom-made fingerless gloves that were specially designed to provide grip when aiming at a distant target with my rifle. Two chains of bullets are tied around my thighs. A pair of handcuffs are attached to the belt loop on the left side of my blue pleated skirt, which hangs just below the pelvic bones that form a v-shape at the front of my waist.

Your eyes track the line that runs vertically between the moderately developed muscles of my exposed midriff, through my belly button and up to my ribs, before being hidden by my blue cropped top and black brassiere. A little black necktie completes my attire, along with the blue top hat that sits on top of my waist-length midnight blue hair.

If you think that my appearance seems very familiar, then you would be right, because what you're staring at is your own reflection in the mirror that I have specially placed in this room.

Yes, that is why you could never solve my cases. Yes, that is why you could never catch me. It's because you yourself are the unsolvable enigma.

Call me Cyntail. Call me C. Call me any other name you want – it doesn't matter. But please, start calling me by my real name. I am Caitlyn, and I am the alter ego of the schizophrenic Sheriff of Piltover.

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 **A/N: To the readers of "Married to the Enemy", I'm still here! I'm just very busy at the moment, but I'll try to update when I got more time, inspiration, and motivation.**

 **This story is an AU of both Married to the Enemy and another story that I plan to write, but the basic concept of the identity of C is most likely going to apply to both of those stories. Caitlyn will play fairly major roles in both.**

 **Hope you enjoyed this little story, and reviews are always welcome.**


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